I don’t get the dating world. How is it that you’re supposed to know someone after 2-3 dates? How is it that you’re supposed to know whether or not you want to enter into a relationship with them. Sometimes I’m not even sure how I feel about my friends, and I’ve known them for years.
Dating bewilders me. It may be because I don’t have much experience with it, but I don’t think that’s necessarily it. I think what bewilders me about dating is that I’m not really who I portray myself to be. I think on the outside, I seem to be one type of person… easily boxed into a ‘type’, whatever that may be. Prude, book-smart, friendly albeit shy mid-twenties girl. Yes, that may be true, but it’s not entirely true. There’s more to me than that… There’s a whole ocean under the surface that you haven’t uncovered yet (because I haven’t shown you). Maybe the reason dating is so tricky to me is because who I appear to be is so disjointed with who I see myself to be. I don’t necessarily think that my outward appearance (and even my outward behaviour) really exemplifies the person I am actually when I’m home alone.
For example, if you ask most of my friends (even the ones that have known me since I was little), they’d tell you that I’m very loud and very funny. They’ll tell you that I don’t take things too seriously and that I make everything into a joke. I’m the clown of the group and I’m always looking for fun. That’s what they see…
In reality, I’m not just that. I mean, yes… I enjoy cracking a lot of jokes, but there’s also a large part of me that craves a bit of emotional depth to my conversations. You know what I enjoy? I sometimes enjoy looking up at the stars and being quiet. I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts (which lately, is not a great thing). I enjoy reading… I love stories. I love them. I love them mostly because they’re not realistic, but I desperately wish that I were wrong about that. There’s a part of me that is rich and vibrant and full of … depth. Full of actual meaning. Full of sorrow and sadness and the complexities of life. I’m not just one note, but that’s sometimes what people interpret from my personality… Maybe that’s because that’s all I want them to see. Maybe it’s true that I don’t let too many people get too deep. I don’t know anymore.
If I could describe my personality in one color, it would be magenta. At the surface it just looks like red. It’s a nice bright red color with a hint of fun purple. It’s warm and it’s vibrant at the same time. It’s a great accent color… But it’s also kind of sad. There’s a bit of blue in there and a bit of grey sometimes. It’s more than just red. It’s more than just purple… there’s a whole world in that hue. I think a lot of the time, I don’t know how to show people that side of me.
I guess that’s why I don’t know if I’m ever going to fall in love again. I don’t know if there will be anyone that I can show that shade of me to. I don’t know if there is anyone that will even recognize that it’s possible for there to be more than just … the bubbly, happy, jokster exterior. I’m not necessarily sad… There’s just a lot of emotions brewing under the surface that I wish I could share with someone. Sometimes I listen to music and a thought comes to me that seems … necessary to share. Seems important. But at the same time, it says something about my soul and that makes me terrified to share it with just anyone. It reveals me to be … real. Something that bleeds. Something that can get hurt. I don’t like that feeling. I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want anyone to see that I cry myself to sleep still. Or that a sad song hits me as hard as a gale wind. I don’t want to harsh anyone’s mellow (heh).
Where is all of this coming from? Ugh… This is my point. I went on a date earlier tonight and it went decently well. I got along with the guy. We joked, we laughed and we chatted. It was… a decent date. But then what? Then I come home and I write up this kind of whiny, kind of over-thought post. Instead of just accepting that it was a decent date and scheduling another one, I sit in front of a computer screen and I write out how I don’t know if anyone will know the true me. That’s the problem, right in itself. Do you think B. would have known that I’d go home and write this sort of thing? Doubt it. I’m pretty sure the impression I left him with was that I was kind of an airhead ditzy, giggling idiot. I did laugh a lot… I did mostly enjoy talking to him, but… I also took a lot away from it. I figured out that we probably wouldn’t get along too well when things got ‘serious’. I don’t think he’d be the type that would know what to do with me if I got serious like this and exposed myself and all the scars I have. I’m pretty sure what he’s looking for is simplicity. A pretty girl with a pretty laugh and pretty hair. Sure, I can be that… but that’s not all I am. I don’t know how to explain who I am to a boy like that. I don’t know.
I think, I need to stop. I need to stop believing that there is something out there that will meet my expectations for love. That perhaps I need to wake up to the reality that there are no love-stories… only a world filled with B.s and a world filled with superficial satisfaction. A world filled with destinations and not journeys. And maybe, that’s the thing. Maybe that’s the type of world we live in… faking it until we make it? Fake the journey. Fake it until you reach the destination and then once you do, release that mortal sigh from your soul and take your final bow into the ground.